The Warm Machine

by Seth Rain

  ‘Your date,’ Freya said to Scott.

  They were quiet for a moment. Isaiah had climbed down from above.

  ‘What will we do with him?’ Noah asked.

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ Isaiah answered before noticing the date etched into Gregory’s chest. Scott saw him catch his breath. ‘We need to hide his body. We’ll come back for him.’

  Scott waited for someone to offer a better suggestion. But none came.

  They lifted Gregory’s body and placed him higher up the bank, among a dense clump of tall grass.

  Scott shivered with the cold and the exertion of swimming for so long. He helped cover Gregory’s body in weeds and grass pulled from the ground nearby, enough so it wouldn’t be seen by anyone travelling along the canal.

  ‘We need to keep going,’ Isaiah said, shaking with cold. He pointed to the canal.

  ‘No way!’ Noah said.

  ‘You can try walking,’ Isaiah said. He pointed to Gregory’s body. ‘But I don’t fancy your chances.’

  Noah grimaced. ‘I hate the canals!’

  Isaiah led the way back down the bank and eased himself into the water. ‘Let’s go.’

  Twenty-One

  Neither the tunnel entrance or exit was in view and, in the darkness, the sound of a motor vibrated through the still air.

  ‘There’s a boat coming,’ Noah said, quickening his stroke.

  Scott looked ahead at Isaiah, who had stopped to check on them, and was waving his hands for them to speed up. Freya caught up with Scott.

  ‘There’s no room for it to pass,’ she said.

  Scott scanned the tunnel, attempting to judge how much room the narrowboat would need. He guessed there would be little space on either side.

  ‘What do we do?’ Freya asked.

  Noah’s stroke sounded clumsy and would get him nowhere fast.

  ‘We can’t let them hear us,’ Scott said. ‘Don’t know how far the exit is.’

  They swam away from the narrowboat, but soon the sound of their splashing was drowned out by the throb of the motor echoing through the tunnel. The boat was gaining on them.

  ‘Do we tell them?’ Freya asked. ‘On the narrowboat?’

  ‘They’ll know who we are,’ Scott said. ‘They’ll hand us over to Gabriel.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  Noah, behind them, had stopped and was panting heavily.

  ‘He’s not going to make it in time,’ Scott said.

  ‘Neither are we,’ Freya said. ‘This tunnel goes on forever.’

  Scott waved to Isaiah, who was a distant shadow, telling him to carry on.

  ‘Noah, hurry,’ Scott said.

  Noah tried swimming again, his arms lumbering through the water.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Scott said.

  Freya spun around in the water. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked again.

  Scott stared at the approaching boat. ‘How long do you think it would take to swim under it?’

  ‘What?’ Freya said. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘The boat will be moving, and so will we. It wouldn’t take that long.’

  ‘The canal might not be deep enough,’ she said. ‘I’ve touched the bottom a few times.’

  ‘I’ll see how deep it is here.’ Scott took a deep breath and stopped treading water; he pushed the water upwards, searching with his feet for the bottom of the canal. It didn’t take long. He returned to the surface.

  ‘If we lie flat,’ he said, gasping, ‘we’ll have plenty of room.’

  Freya shook her head. ‘Let’s just tell them. Take our chances.’

  ‘Then what? They’ll hand us over to Gabriel. And you know what he’ll do. To all of us.’

  Noah had caught up with them. ‘What?’ he said, gulping air. ‘What … are we … going to … do?’

  ‘Go under,’ Scott said, pointing at the water.

  Noah faced the oncoming boat. ‘Do what?’

  ‘It won’t work,’ Freya said.

  ‘It will,’ Scott said. ‘There’s room. You’ll have to hold your breath for around thirty seconds.’

  ‘Thirty seconds,’ Noah said. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘It might not be that long,’ Scott said. ‘The boat’s moving pretty fast.’

  ‘No way,’ Noah said, and he started swimming away from the boat.

  ‘Wait,’ Scott said. ‘They’ll see us.’

  Noah stopped. The narrowboat was close, its dark shadow approaching.

  Scott swam to the wall of the tunnel. ‘Stay by the side so you miss the propeller at the back of the boat.’

  ‘Propeller?’ Noah said, spitting water.

  ‘I don’t think they’re that big,’ Freya replied.

  ‘Well, that’s okay then,’ Noah said.

  Scott laid a hand on Noah’s shoulder. ‘Start taking slow, deep breaths. Expand your lungs.’

  Freya, beside him, did as Scott said.

  Noah was still panting for air.

  ‘Noah,’ Scott said, ‘look at me. You need to stop doing that.’

  The narrowboat edged closer, its bow cutting through the ink-black water.

  ‘Ready?’ Scott asked.

  Freya inhaled deeply then exhaled through her mouth. Scott gripped Noah’s shoulder.

  ‘When it passes over us,’ Scott said, ‘we need to be quiet when we come up for air. There’ll be someone at the rear of the boat, steering.’

  They nodded.

  ‘Here we go,’ Scott said. ‘Deep breaths.’

  The narrowboat’s engine echoed through the tunnel. Scott filled his lungs and pushed himself under the water. In seconds he felt the bulk of the boat above, shifting the water. He twisted his body so he was lying on the bottom of the canal, reeds and sludge beneath him. He couldn’t help his body from rising, and kicked to push himself to the bottom of the canal. The boat’s engine was getting louder beneath the water. He tried opening his eyes but it was no use; everything was black. Again his body began to rise. He reached up and felt the hull of the narrowboat. The engine grew louder. The propeller and churning water dragged him backwards. A different sound permeated the canal: a shuffling, repetitive cutting sound. He moved as far to the side as he could. The propeller was close. He felt it swirling the water all around him, the whooshing of moving water, pulling and pushing.

  Then the propeller cut by him.

  Scott kicked away from the narrowboat before emerging from the water. His thoughts shifted to Freya and Noah. He tried to stay calm but couldn’t help gasping for air.

  The boat had travelled far enough away for it to be a shadow again.

  There was no sign of Freya. Or Noah.

  Scott waited, his heart thumping.

  Then Freya broke through the surface with a gentle splash. She gasped for air and swept her hair away from her face.

  ‘Did they see us?’ Freya asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Scott said.

  ‘Where’s Noah?’ Freya whispered.

  Scott shrugged and span around.

  Noah rose out of the water, gasping, trying to talk at the same time.

  There was a slash in Noah’s clothes across his chest.

  Noah grimaced. ‘My chest!’

  Scott swam closer and saw, in the darkness, the even darker flash of blood spilling from a wound in Noah’s chest.

  ‘No!’ Scott said to Freya. ‘His chest. The propeller!’

  Freya didn’t say anything at first; she just pushed her hand against Noah’s chest, covering the wound. ‘We need to stop the bleeding,’ she snapped at Scott, her arms flailing. ‘Take off your trousers.’

  Scott, treading water, floundered as he reached beneath the surface. Noah scowled, growling with pain, but trying to stay as still as he could. Scott gave his trousers to Freya then held on to Noah, both of them now and then sinking beneath the water.

  ‘Keep his chest above the water,’ Freya said.

  ‘I’m trying!’

  Freya looped Scott’s trousers
around Noah’s chest and tied the legs behind his back. She pulled at the legs and Noah let out a loud groan.

  ‘I can’t get them any tighter,’ she said. ‘Hurry, we need to get him out of the water.’

  Scott held on to Noah and kicked towards the exit of the tunnel. Freya helped as much as she could, but Scott took most of Noah’s weight. He stopped swimming where he could touch the bottom of the canal and rested.

  ‘We need to keep moving,’ Freya said. ‘There might be another boat.’

  Scott pushed away from the bottom and, grasping Noah, again kicked.

  Noah let out another moan but kicked in time with Scott.

  ‘I see it,’ Freya said. ‘Up ahead. The tunnel opening. Keep going.’

  After several minutes, Scott, feeling as though he was drowning, pushed Noah to the side of the canal.

  ‘Isaiah! Where are you?’ Freya shouted. ‘Help!’

  Isaiah emerged from a clump of reeds at the side of the canal. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We need to get him out,’ Freya said, trying, but failing, to help Noah out of the water. Scott, lying with his arms stretched out on the towpath, gasped for air. Isaiah grabbed the trousers Freya had tied behind Noah’s back and pulled him out.

  ‘He’s bleeding,’ Isaiah said.

  Noah rolled onto his back, showing Isaiah the gash on his chest.

  ‘We need to get him to Mathew,’ Freya said. ‘He’ll be able to stop the bleeding.’

  ‘The propeller,’ Scott said, breathing heavily. ‘We had to go under…’

  ‘Under?’ Isaiah said, his hands hovering above Noah’s chest, unsure what to do to help.

  Freya helped Isaiah pull Noah to his feet.

  ‘We need you to stand,’ Freya said to Noah, whose head was rolling. ‘We have to get you out of these clothes and cleaned up.’ Freya pointed to a row of houses and a fence at the top of the bank. ‘Maybe we can find somewhere up there?’

  It was midday, so they took care not to be seen.

  Scott helped Isaiah carry Noah. Freya led the way up the bank to a gate. In the garden was a large shed. It was unlocked. Inside, Scott laid Noah on the floor.

  ‘Take off his clothes,’ Freya said.

  Freya looked through a bundle of black sacks at the back of the shed as Isaiah and Scott undressed Noah, whose body jolted and spasmed, his teeth gnashing with cold and pain.

  Freya, now wearing a huge duffel coat, ripped open the bags and emptied them onto the floor. ‘Wrap him up in these,’ she said, sorting two blankets and throwing them to Isaiah. ‘Need to warm him up.’

  Isaiah did as Freya said, then sat beside Noah and rubbed his back.

  ‘What do we do about the gash?’ Scott asked.

  ‘We have to stop the bleeding for now,’ Freya said. ‘Then get him to Mathew and a surgical-machine.’

  Noah shook his head. ‘No chance! I hate those things.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest?’ Freya snapped.

  Noah let out another long moan. ‘Whisky!’

  Isaiah opened the shed door and crept outside. Freya bent down beside Noah and shifted the material covering his chest to check the wound.

  ‘How is it?’ Scott asked.

  Freya didn’t answer.

  Noah leaned his head back and covered his face with both hands.

  ‘We’re going to get you fixed,’ Freya said. ‘Hang on.’

  ‘Let’s hide in these crates,’ Noah said, mocking Scott’s voice. ‘It’ll be fine.’

  Freya glanced at Scott but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I hate swimming,’ Noah said. He sat up and pointed at Scott. ‘You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Scott said.

  ‘Let’s go under it,’ Noah said, again mocking Scott’s voice.

  Freya couldn’t help smiling at Scott.

  A smile flickered across Noah’s face then disappeared again. He winced and gnashed his teeth.

  The door opened. It was Isaiah.

  ‘I found more clothes,’ he said, throwing a bundle at Freya’s feet. ‘And a bottle.’ Isaiah opened the half-empty bottle of whisky and handed it to Noah.

  ‘That’ll do,’ Noah said. He held the bottle to his lips, guzzling eagerly. After he’d finished, he handed the bottle to Freya.

  Freya had taken some of the clothes and arranged them like bandages on the floor beside Noah. ‘Hold his arms,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Noah said.

  ‘Hold them!’ Freya said to Scott and Isaiah.

  Scott held Noah’s left arm and Isaiah did the same with his right.

  ‘Hold tight,’ Freya said.

  ‘Wait!’ Noah said. ‘Wait!’

  But Freya ripped away the blanket covering him and poured the whisky over the open wound. Noah let out a loud yawp.

  ‘Sorry,’ Freya said. ‘But I had to do it. The canal water is dirty – it needs antiseptic.’

  Noah clenched his jaw and snorted through his nose. He was deathly pale. Next Freya applied the bits of material she’d prepared to cover the wound.

  Noah’s eyes rolled before he closed them.

  Twenty-Two

  Scott rested his head against the wall of the shed and listened to Noah sleeping. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he whispered to Isaiah. ‘Why are you risking everything to help me?’

  Isaiah sighed. ‘Paul told us everything he knew. And if what he said is true, then it changes everything.’

  Freya glanced across at Scott. ‘Come with us,’ she said. ‘Mathew will protect you. You’ll understand when you meet him.’

  Scott rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I can’t.’

  Freya flinched, her expression hard. ‘Why not?’

  Scott stared down at the ground, his shoulders hunched. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said. ‘How are we supposed to avoid every clan out here? They’ll know about the bounty on our heads by now. We don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘And what do you suggest we do?’ Isaiah asked.

  Scott sat up straight. ‘We hide.’

  ‘Hide?’ Freya asked.

  Isaiah’s expression was stony. He lowered his head.

  ‘It’s not going to help anyone, us getting caught,’ Scott said. He pointed to Isaiah and Noah. ‘What will Gabriel do to you if he finds you? And you?’ he said to Freya. ‘Surely it would be better to hide, regroup and work out what we’re going to do. Properly. We need to think carefully or we could head straight into a trap.’

  Isaiah gestured to Noah. ‘We’re not going to be able to swim through that tunnel again.’ He leaned against the shed wall. ‘We need to get him to Mathew.’

  ‘We can get help from someone else,’ Scott said. ‘Take him to a hospital. All we need is a surgical-machine.’

  Slowly, Freya shook her head.

  Isaiah ran a hand through his hair. ‘What about Mathew?’

  ‘Look,’ Scott said, ‘I know you think he has all the answers, that he’s going to know what to do, but I’ve never met him. I’m following you, risking my life, and I’ve no idea why.’

  Isaiah’s mouth opened but no words came out.

  ‘You have to trust us,’ Freya said. ‘Mathew will know what—’

  ‘Stop saying that!’ Scott said.

  For a while there was silence inside the shed, apart from Noah’s breathing.

  ‘I don’t see what Mathew could possibly do or say that will help,’ Scott said. ‘And no one is going to stop Gabriel and his Watchers from getting to us if we’re out in the open. With everyone else searching for us too, we’re an easy target.’

  Again, they were silent.

  Isaiah held his hand against the side of his head. ‘It’s hit me. Just now. Paul – he’s gone. He’d have known what to do.’

  Scott bowed his head. Paul’s death was his fault. Even though Paul had come for him, Scott was the reason he was dead. They must have all seen that.

  The sound of a boat outside made Isaiah inch his way to the shed door. ‘Wait here,’
he said to Scott and Freya. ‘I’ll take a look. See if I can find some food and water.’

  He crept through the door.

  Seeing anything through the dusty shed window was difficult, but Scott could just make out Isaiah climbing down the bank towards the trees and the canal beyond. The midday sun had not managed to break through the dense cloud, giving the day a feeling of perpetual twilight.

  When he checked on Freya, about to ask if she was warm enough, she was slumped against a clothes dryer, asleep. He’d disappointed her. That was evident in her pursed lips and slumped shoulders. But he didn’t believe what they all believed. He didn’t have that luxury. His date, more than ever, burned beneath his skin. Things had happened so fast, he’d not had a chance to consider what it all meant. He’d lived long enough with his date to become accustomed to it; he’d made his peace with it a long time ago. Still, the most recent day he had spent waiting for it to happen brought with it the same anxiety. It was not the if that plagued him, but how it would happen. When he saw Paul in the rain beneath the streetlamp, he had figured it would be the Watcher’s revolver – the one empty chamber as assurance that what happened was His will. That, he could handle – in his home, on his date, rain pouring down outside. To be killed when the sun was shining would be cruel.

  This wasn’t his fight. He’d asked for none of it. If his date was right then he had another year, at least, to live his life in peace. If it was wrong, then so be it. But why would he set out to find the truth? Since Paul found him, he’d been in more danger than he’d ever been at any other time in his life.

  Again he peered through the shed window. A narrowboat chugged along the canal, travelling the way Scott wanted to go.

  Twenty-Three

  Scott checked his watch, then the door. It was locked.

  ‘We’re going to do it together,’ Rebecca said. ‘It’s going to be okay. It won’t be this year.’

  Scott walked to the window and checked the latch. That was locked too.

  ‘There’s no other way in,’ she said. ‘You’re healthy. There’s nothing wrong with you. The doctor said so too. It’s going to be okay.’

  ‘You sound like you’re convincing yourself more than me.’